[ by the time they're all allowed to breathe again, and newton is finally taken care of, marta finds her nerves are nowhere near calming. one would think dealing with the aftermath of one of their own's possession and subsequent betrayal would unsettle her enough, but no. now without that issue to deal with, she's left to finally face the aftermath of her own decisions, and though she isn't anywhere close to regretting them... well. somehow she's fourteen years old again, admitting to her first love how much he means to her.
she knocks on the door of his new room, trying to steady her breath. there is resolve brimming the shaky lines of her nerves, but a little bit of that falls away when he opens the door, and she gets her first real good look at him since they've arrived. since the train.
since the kiss. ]
Hi.
[ a few beats of silence follows before she realizes she's the one who came to him in the first place, and she jolts, holding out a small velvet case. inside, he'll find a glass ink pen and a modest vial of black ink. ]
I found it in the supply drop a few days ago and I thought of you, but... [ well. things got busy? didn't they? ] I figured it'd make a good housewarming present anyway.
[ he hasn't really been allowed the time to actually think about all that went on in that train, not since their immediate return resulted in being occupied with making sure that he could keep a possessed newt alive, especially once he came to realize just how much the protection was warranted after witnessing his own roommate make an assassination attempt.
it keeps him stationed as guard for a time, running on very little sleep except for whatever he can spare when quill takes over on duty, up until the time comes for actually removing those things from newt's mind. from there, it's clara who's stationed at his side, granting her the promise that he'd come immediately if anything happens, with the additional assurance that she's probably as much of a threat to whoever tries to hurt the man in recovery just as much as he would be if he stuck around.
the decision to move to a new room is a no-brainer, taking advantage that a few people have since left the ximilia in the past few months allowing for some spare space for him to get his own. there's very little he needs to move over, just an armful of clothes that he could easily carry in one trip, along with a stack of books that are a mix of his own grabs and some marta had suggested his way.
marta — despite the busy hours of the last several days, it'd be an outright lie to say that she's left his mind at all, even if there's been little time to actually settle in and say anything more than a few words to her with all the rush of the return, between newt's predicament and the numbers of patients checked in to the infirmary. he'd sent her a message about the change in room, with little else added to it, and it's when he's finally moved in with what little he is, taking the time to have a well-earned shower, that he starts to consider what he'd even say.
by the time there's the knock to the door, he's well out from the wash, hair still a little damp but skin dried off and pants pulled on (because the man has learned his lesson). lacking a shirt, there's a few notable scrapes and bruises, nothing drastic and plenty healed by now, but no doubt fresh from the most recent battle on the train. ]
Hi.
[ for a moment, he just looks at her as she stands there, as the rush and chaos all finally begins to slow down just by having her there in front of him, every planned word he'd thought about telling her suddenly gone from his head.
instead, he peers down at the gift she's brought him, the pen bearing a glass with a sort of peculiar glow as it's turned, the light of the room reflecting on it that it almost looks like a songspire leaf — ]
You didn't ... have to. [ which almost feels rude considering, but his lips soften, hinting his appreciation. ] But thanks. [ another pause and then, ] Come inside?
[ her answer comes in a slow nod, an even slower handful of steps that bring her into his new space. her eyes take in a brief sweep, purely reflexive — but just like his space had been in his previous room, the personal affects are sparse. she absently wonders if that will change, now that the space is all his own, or if he still considers his stay here temporary enough not to bother.
she gives her head a brief shake at that. definitely not the thought she should be toying with right now.
she turns back to face him, eyes dropping to his bare, damp chest briefly, before she forces them back up to meet his eyes. she's suddenly reminded of the first time she'd been in his room, stitching up an old wound that wouldn't heal on its own. ]
I wanted to check up on you properly... it's been a few days.
[ since. the word hangs heavy in her mouth, but she swallows it back on instinct.
—no, comes a sharper voice in her head. no more stalling. no more running away from this. it's time to finally be honest with him, with herself. ]
Do you remember, in Scorpion's Bend? That night you came to my room...
[ it's a touchy subject, for a multitude of reasons; welford. clara. the fantasy the both of them got a little too caught up in. the orb that reminded them all what fools they were in the end. but she barrels on anyway, hands splaying out in front of her, palms up. ]
I told you that night, that I would carry your hope for you until you were ready again. [ her hands come up, resting over her heart. ] I have it now, with mine. But I was wondering if — if you thought you might be ready, maybe.
[ she winces, only now just hearing the words she'd been spinning around in her head since that morning. but there's no turning back now. nowhere else to go but forward. ]
Tak. If you'll let me... I'd like to try making you as happy as you deserve.
[ as she steps inside, he shuts the door after her, turning to watch her move further into his space. it isn't much, already looking plenty like his other room, save for the fact that it lacks a second bed. with such few things, it'd almost be hard to even recognize it as his if it weren't for the all too familiar pink bag settled in one corner. when he steps over to set the pen carefully upon the time, even that alone is enough to add a touch more of personality.
the lack of items is mostly that kovacs has always taught himself not to get too attached to anything, not when he never lives anywhere long enough to get comfortable anyway, not when so often he's grown accustomed to having to let things go. because there's always been very little for him to have all his own, anyway.
marta speaks up and he turns to her, saying nothing as he says her words carefully, his eyes peering over her open hands before she brings them up to her chest, motioning at her heart.
do you remember, she asks, and for a moment, there's a fear that he won't, that he'll have already lost a precious memory. but it all comes back to him easily, the way he'd wandered that night with the anguish of a heavy conversation with clara, how his feet had carried him to marta's door before he'd even realized where he was going. it was so long ago now, but even then — she was already believing in him, already offering everything.
everything she'd said that night had been more than enough, and still, here she is, wanting to give him more. ]
Marta. [ he says her name quietly, like a whisper almost lost in an already quiet room. the silence follows for a moment longer before his feet move slowly across the floor, closer to her. ] Months ago, I would have told you that I don't deserve any of it. I'm actually pretty sure that's exactly what I said.
[ he stops in front of her, sighing a soft breath. ]
I won't lie to you and say that I don't think like that anymore, because — truth is, I still think there's plenty I don't deserve. But ...
[ he raises his hand, fingers light as they reach out to trace a touch along her hair, drawing it back with a gentle tuck. ]
But the difference is I don't want to sit back anymore. I want to fight for it. I want to fight for the chance to — to be happy with you.
[ maybe it's foolish, wanting to hold onto and foster something in a space that was only ever meant to be temporary. especially something as delicate as this, this whatever-it-is and whatever-it-could-possibly-be between them. they were all there for their own reasons, and that should have been that.
or maybe it's just human, building communities and forming bonds despite the threat of an expiry date. giving and getting support, building up and building back. what's a fantastical quest involving regrets without a reminder of all the reasons to keep trying to begin with?
maybe it's both.
marta does feel a little foolish now, standing there with her hands out, trying to offer kovacs something that has already hurt him once before. but every step he takes towards her, every word he braves out — that feeling of foolishness begins to dissipate, until he's standing right in front of her, close enough to touch, and gone with that feeling too is the weight on her chest of carrying two hopes.
he touches her hair and her face like he's done before and somehow it feels both unchanged and different. she's smiling either way, something fragile and relieved. ]
There's nothing to fight for, Tak. The chance is already here.
[ he'd been cautious about this. what happened with quell centuries past, what happened with clara just months ago — kovacs had learned the dangers of trying to grasp onto something concrete, something that could make his heart swell with the feeling of being wanted, of being worth more than the disposable life he often believed himself to be.
but she isn't quell, dedicated to something overwhelmingly bigger than herself, a seed of revolution, and a symbol molded to restore the cracks spreading across humanity. she isn't clara, a fleeting dream describing the limitless stretches of space, always craving more and never knowing stillness.
marta is something else, something he hadn't even known to exist. when quell talks of hope, it's about the chase. when clara talks of hope, it's about the fantasy. when marta talks of hopes, it's —
it's real. she isn't coating truth. she's earnest. she wants to believe it, chooses to. and kovacs? he wants to be in it with her.
the chance is already here.
he's seen her face a hundred times, but he looks at her like he needs to learn it all over again, like what he sees is new, because in some parts, it is. not because he's forgotten (he knows the chance of that is there, but he won't let it hold him back, not anymore), but because he it's the first time, in a long time, he's letting himself have it.
we take what is offered, quell had taught him. but for the first time, he's really doing it.
slowly, he leans in, a brush of his nose caressing the tip of hers, carefully as he lingers in that position, eyes closing. for a moment, he simply breathes her in, fingers resting at her neck, calloused tips curling soft to her skin.
then his lips meet hers, almost tentative but without doubt, a promise that he isn't going to resist her, not anymore, his mouth firm with a kiss that welcomes her past the doors he'd tried to keep shut. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action | a day after the prewt dust settles
she knocks on the door of his new room, trying to steady her breath. there is resolve brimming the shaky lines of her nerves, but a little bit of that falls away when he opens the door, and she gets her first real good look at him since they've arrived. since the train.
since the kiss. ]
Hi.
[ a few beats of silence follows before she realizes she's the one who came to him in the first place, and she jolts, holding out a small velvet case. inside, he'll find a glass ink pen and a modest vial of black ink. ]
I found it in the supply drop a few days ago and I thought of you, but... [ well. things got busy? didn't they? ] I figured it'd make a good housewarming present anyway.
no subject
it keeps him stationed as guard for a time, running on very little sleep except for whatever he can spare when quill takes over on duty, up until the time comes for actually removing those things from newt's mind. from there, it's clara who's stationed at his side, granting her the promise that he'd come immediately if anything happens, with the additional assurance that she's probably as much of a threat to whoever tries to hurt the man in recovery just as much as he would be if he stuck around.
the decision to move to a new room is a no-brainer, taking advantage that a few people have since left the ximilia in the past few months allowing for some spare space for him to get his own. there's very little he needs to move over, just an armful of clothes that he could easily carry in one trip, along with a stack of books that are a mix of his own grabs and some marta had suggested his way.
marta — despite the busy hours of the last several days, it'd be an outright lie to say that she's left his mind at all, even if there's been little time to actually settle in and say anything more than a few words to her with all the rush of the return, between newt's predicament and the numbers of patients checked in to the infirmary. he'd sent her a message about the change in room, with little else added to it, and it's when he's finally moved in with what little he is, taking the time to have a well-earned shower, that he starts to consider what he'd even say.
by the time there's the knock to the door, he's well out from the wash, hair still a little damp but skin dried off and pants pulled on (because the man has learned his lesson). lacking a shirt, there's a few notable scrapes and bruises, nothing drastic and plenty healed by now, but no doubt fresh from the most recent battle on the train. ]
Hi.
[ for a moment, he just looks at her as she stands there, as the rush and chaos all finally begins to slow down just by having her there in front of him, every planned word he'd thought about telling her suddenly gone from his head.
instead, he peers down at the gift she's brought him, the pen bearing a glass with a sort of peculiar glow as it's turned, the light of the room reflecting on it that it almost looks like a songspire leaf — ]
You didn't ... have to. [ which almost feels rude considering, but his lips soften, hinting his appreciation. ] But thanks. [ another pause and then, ] Come inside?
no subject
she gives her head a brief shake at that. definitely not the thought she should be toying with right now.
she turns back to face him, eyes dropping to his bare, damp chest briefly, before she forces them back up to meet his eyes. she's suddenly reminded of the first time she'd been in his room, stitching up an old wound that wouldn't heal on its own. ]
I wanted to check up on you properly... it's been a few days.
[ since. the word hangs heavy in her mouth, but she swallows it back on instinct.
—no, comes a sharper voice in her head. no more stalling. no more running away from this. it's time to finally be honest with him, with herself. ]
Do you remember, in Scorpion's Bend? That night you came to my room...
[ it's a touchy subject, for a multitude of reasons; welford. clara. the fantasy the both of them got a little too caught up in. the orb that reminded them all what fools they were in the end. but she barrels on anyway, hands splaying out in front of her, palms up. ]
I told you that night, that I would carry your hope for you until you were ready again. [ her hands come up, resting over her heart. ] I have it now, with mine. But I was wondering if — if you thought you might be ready, maybe.
[ she winces, only now just hearing the words she'd been spinning around in her head since that morning. but there's no turning back now. nowhere else to go but forward. ]
Tak. If you'll let me... I'd like to try making you as happy as you deserve.
no subject
the lack of items is mostly that kovacs has always taught himself not to get too attached to anything, not when he never lives anywhere long enough to get comfortable anyway, not when so often he's grown accustomed to having to let things go. because there's always been very little for him to have all his own, anyway.
marta speaks up and he turns to her, saying nothing as he says her words carefully, his eyes peering over her open hands before she brings them up to her chest, motioning at her heart.
do you remember, she asks, and for a moment, there's a fear that he won't, that he'll have already lost a precious memory. but it all comes back to him easily, the way he'd wandered that night with the anguish of a heavy conversation with clara, how his feet had carried him to marta's door before he'd even realized where he was going. it was so long ago now, but even then — she was already believing in him, already offering everything.
everything she'd said that night had been more than enough, and still, here she is, wanting to give him more. ]
Marta. [ he says her name quietly, like a whisper almost lost in an already quiet room. the silence follows for a moment longer before his feet move slowly across the floor, closer to her. ] Months ago, I would have told you that I don't deserve any of it. I'm actually pretty sure that's exactly what I said.
[ he stops in front of her, sighing a soft breath. ]
I won't lie to you and say that I don't think like that anymore, because — truth is, I still think there's plenty I don't deserve. But ...
[ he raises his hand, fingers light as they reach out to trace a touch along her hair, drawing it back with a gentle tuck. ]
But the difference is I don't want to sit back anymore. I want to fight for it. I want to fight for the chance to — to be happy with you.
no subject
or maybe it's just human, building communities and forming bonds despite the threat of an expiry date. giving and getting support, building up and building back. what's a fantastical quest involving regrets without a reminder of all the reasons to keep trying to begin with?
maybe it's both.
marta does feel a little foolish now, standing there with her hands out, trying to offer kovacs something that has already hurt him once before. but every step he takes towards her, every word he braves out — that feeling of foolishness begins to dissipate, until he's standing right in front of her, close enough to touch, and gone with that feeling too is the weight on her chest of carrying two hopes.
he touches her hair and her face like he's done before and somehow it feels both unchanged and different. she's smiling either way, something fragile and relieved. ]
There's nothing to fight for, Tak. The chance is already here.
no subject
but she isn't quell, dedicated to something overwhelmingly bigger than herself, a seed of revolution, and a symbol molded to restore the cracks spreading across humanity. she isn't clara, a fleeting dream describing the limitless stretches of space, always craving more and never knowing stillness.
marta is something else, something he hadn't even known to exist. when quell talks of hope, it's about the chase. when clara talks of hope, it's about the fantasy. when marta talks of hopes, it's —
it's real. she isn't coating truth. she's earnest. she wants to believe it, chooses to. and kovacs? he wants to be in it with her.
the chance is already here.
he's seen her face a hundred times, but he looks at her like he needs to learn it all over again, like what he sees is new, because in some parts, it is. not because he's forgotten (he knows the chance of that is there, but he won't let it hold him back, not anymore), but because he it's the first time, in a long time, he's letting himself have it.
we take what is offered, quell had taught him. but for the first time, he's really doing it.
slowly, he leans in, a brush of his nose caressing the tip of hers, carefully as he lingers in that position, eyes closing. for a moment, he simply breathes her in, fingers resting at her neck, calloused tips curling soft to her skin.
then his lips meet hers, almost tentative but without doubt, a promise that he isn't going to resist her, not anymore, his mouth firm with a kiss that welcomes her past the doors he'd tried to keep shut. ]